


Whittle

by atqi



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish, F/M, Gen, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atqi/pseuds/atqi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A thicket of crudely fashioned swords stuck out of the packed earth, like needles in a pincushion. He threaded through them, watching embroidered banners adorned with old dead letters drift across the bare air."</p>
<p>Solas visits a friend in the Fade. Dragon Age: Inquisition ending spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whittle

The air was cold and still at Skyhold, from the highest towers to the pit of the castle dungeon. Cold and still and smelling faintly of the damp hay that had been blown about the keep by the gusts of mountain air over the centuries of its silent, neglected vigil.

Solas stepped over a bit of forest green threadbare fabric. The harried quartermaster’s early efforts to keep the freezing air from pouring into the castle through the great gashes in Skyhold’s walls were admirable, but not yet entirely effective. The tips of his pointed ears shivered slightly. 

When he stepped through the doors to the war room he was greeted by a wall of deep green evergreen trees, so thick that he could barely pass between them without filling his cloak with pine needles.

The prevailing scent was not the trees, however, it was an odd mixture of Dalish wood varnish and a twinge of blood. High above his head the thick canopy of the forest obscured the twisted shapes of the Fade.

Then, as abruptly as it had began, the tress ended, and he stepped into a clearing. A thicket of crudely fashioned swords stuck out of the packed earth, like needles in a pincushion. He threaded through them, watching embroidered banners adorned with old dead letters drift across the bare air.

He found the inquisitor in the center, seated by a campfire tended by a Dalish hunter with spots of white light for eyes. This did not seem to bother Moyven, she was preoccupied with something in her hands.

She was seated on a log, her enormous greatsword wrapped lovingly in one of the floating banners. Surrounding her were no less than eight wood carvings, she held another in her palm, half finished. On the log beside her was the bowl of varnish, thick and Amber colored in the bowl, but clear and shining on the wooden figurines.

The sound of the little knife in her tiny, calloused hands echoed in the air of the fade, it ringed around the clearing and reverberated in Solas’ head. He stepped forward to take a closer look.

The Dalish hunter with light for eyes looked up. His lips were cracked and bleeding, he opened his mouth and a sound like a twig snapping came from his throat. Moyven looked up, saw Solas, smiled, and the hunter melted away.

"Lethallin." She said, pleased, and rubbed her thumb over a spot on her carving that she had already sanded clean. "I thought you would be exploring somewhere more interesting."

"I thought I would find you battling demons in your dreams." He replied, "I came to help. I did not realize you would not be troubled."

"I was-" she said, then corrected herself. "I am. But not here. I’m occupying myself."

Brush crackled under the cloven hooves of two enormous halla. They voiced their displeasure at being urged through the thick forest, but pressed onward, swift as ravens. Moyven was still carving, somehow, and smiling at him.

"It was good of you to come, anyway. I’ve learned so much from you in our talks." She said, "I never much cared to learn about the fade and spirits and such when I was young. By the time I was old enough to know better, I was a hunter."

"You carve the elvhen gods in your dreams, lethallan, you must have learned something." Solas replied, leaning over to stroke the neck of his mount. She scoffed.

"Can’t remember half the names most of the time, if I’m honest." She admitted sheepishly. "Images, though, the form of the bow, the bowers of the trees, the warmth of the hearth. Those I can remember. Those I can carve. Words never come easily when I’m awake." She added the last sentence quickly and out the side of her mouth, as if hoping he didn’t hear it. But in the fade, her voice was like a crashing wave. He heard it  _very_ clearly.

"I admire your candor." He said carefully. He glanced behind her, the little carvings she had made floated behind them in a line. Their forms remained the same, but their sizes were inconsistent. One moment they were as small as the palm of her hand, the next they seemed to loom over both of them. She didn’t seem to notice.

They stood in Haven, in the little nook besides the stables. Moyven set her little carvings down in a row along the short stone wall, all facing the paddock except for one. The halla nibbled at Solas’ shoulder as he watched her. She placed them down with great care, evenly spacing them except for the last, a little wolf that she set on the corner of the wall, and turned it away from the others.

"You carved the Dread Wolf last." He pointed out mildly, and she nodded.

"You don’t want his eyes on you until the last minute." She explained, "Well, you know-"

"My studies of the Dalish have been purely academic." He replied, "I have never counted one among my friends."

"And now you do?" She asked, looking pleased. The lines of her vallaslin curved gently upwards with her smile.

"It makes me sad." She added, standing on the edge of a bluff. Far below the blanched rock faces, an ocean of clattering swords crashed against the shore.

"My friendship?" Solas watched the ebbing blades curiously. She shook her head.

"You remember these, these dreams, don’t you?" She asked, and he nodded. "I only remember bits and pieces. But- I do consider you a friend. I’m sure I’ll remember that."

The little carvings bobbed in the wickedly sharp sea. She watched them, he watched her.


End file.
